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VERMONT 



VERMONT 



BY 

WENDELL PHILLIPS STAFFORD, LITT. D. 



MIDDLEBURY VERMONT 

1910 






The Elm Tree Press Woodstock Vermont 

Copyright 1910 

by 

Wendell Phillips Stafford 



©CI.A2SG218 



READ AT THE 

ONE HUNDRED AND TENTH COMMENCEMENT OF 

MIDDLEBURY COLLEGE 



DEAR LITTLE STATE among the dark green hills, 
Who for thy never-changing bounds didst take 
The long, bright river and the azure lake, 
And whose deep lap the short-lived summer fills 
With sudden sweetness till its wealth o'erspills,— 
How shall we sing thee for thy beauty's sake, 
Or praise thee in a voice that shall not break 
For pathos of the theme wherewith it thrills ? 



VERMONT 



What if on flying feet thy summers go, 

And the strict gods of beauty and of power 
Poured in a casket small thy peerless dower? 

Who would not rather feel love's fiercest throe 

Than count the vacant years the loveless know- 
Reign with the rose her one imperial hour 
Than live the summer-long a meaner flower ? 

Be glad : thy crown is greener for the snow. 



VERMONT 



Thou sit'st with loins upgirt, like those that wait, 
Not those that slumber ; and around thy knees 
True sons of thine, scomers of fear and ease. 

Make music of their toil, early and late ; 

For thou art fitly compassed in thy state 

By fields of clover, reddening to the breeze, 
Hummed over by the blithe and laboring bees 

And guarded by the mountains calm and great. 



VERMONT 



Swarm after swarm thy children have gone forth 
But still the old hive keeps its golden store, 
Filled by the same bright service as before 

With frugal bounty and unwasted worth ; 

And still they fly, far west and south and north ; 
Their murmur fills the land from shore to shore ; 
And if but few return, what myriads more 

Dream of thy face and bless thee for their birth ! 



VERMONT 



They dream of thee ! Of them dost thou not dream ? 
Didst thou not show them in their happy prime 
Thy deep-wood secrets — teach them in their time 
The lapsing legend of the lingering stream- 
Awe with the shadow, lure them with the gleam — 
And at the first touch of the autumn rime 
Weave them the glamor of a magic clime, 
And paint their palace with the rainbow's beam ? 



VERMONT 



And they are still thy children, though their feet 
Follow hard trails in the tumultuous town, 
Or to the mighty waters have gone down ; 

And though they long have heard the surges beat 

On alien shores, and alien tongues repeat 

Their names, and of new men have earned renown, 
They are thy children still, and every crown 

They win is thine, and makes thy dream more sweet. 



VERMONT 



At times thy musings take a darker hue, 

And thou hast sight of some war-furrowed field 
Where once the smoking squadrons charged and 
wheeled, 

When Liberty her perilled trumpet blew,— 

And down through all the vales thy heroes flew, 
With thy old deathless valor fired and steeled, 
To make the glorious legend on thy shield, 

" Freedom and Unity ", forever true. 



VERMONT 



Sometimes with its old scorn thy Up is curled — 
Thinking how on thy borders, east and west 
And south and north, thy foes around thee pressed, 
And all their bolts upon thy head were hurled— 
When thy young flag was suddenly unfurled 
And thy lone eagle left his stormy nest. 
Soaring above grim Mansfield's darkening crest, 
And screamed defiance to the whole armed world ! 



VERMONT 



Yet these are not thy symbols. Scorn and ire 
In thy deep soul are but a passing mood. 
But thou dost watch with sweet solicitude 

The plowfields putting on their green attire, 

The blue smoke curling from the cottage fire, 

The little schoolhouse, many-scarred and rude. 
Half-shrinking in the shadow of the wood, 

And, ringed with loving elms, the tall white spire. 



VERMONT 



Nor wilt thou turn away from hours Hke these 
In the still closes of the cloistered town, 
Where generations of the book and gown 

Lead their pure lives under the tranquil trees. 

Such pensive ways thy sober spirit please, 

And thou dost muse in many a volume brown 
From far-off, golden ages drifted down — 

Old inspirations, raptures, reveries. 



VERMONT 



Mother of Men ! whom the green hills enthrone, 
From whose bright feet the rivers haste away, 
Thou of the ages art— we of a day, 

Yet we have loved thee and thy love have known. 

And if with too faint breath our reeds are blown 
To carry the great burden of thy lay- 
Yet some true notes among our measures play- 

The shame will all be ours, the honor thine alone. 



MR S 191^ 



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